By the Rev’d Jacky Sewell

Season: Third Sunday of Eastertide

Readings: Acts 9:1-6 | Rev 5:11-14 | John 21:1-19

What a mind-boggling week to be preaching.

Two weeks after Easter, the full drama of Paul’s conversion, angels singing their lungs out in Revelation (we skipped that reading), and a jam-packed final chapter to John’s Gospel which is worth at least three different sermons, not the one I’ve been allotted.

What is a preacher to do? Stop, breathe, and look at this image. It’s by American artist Mike Moyers (https://www.mikemoyersfineart.com/illuminations, scroll to “Breakfast at Dawn”).

The sun, centre stage, just announcing its arrival over the horizon.

The glories of light, drenching the world with colour and vibrance.

Water, shimmering, rippling, creating a pathway from the sun to shore.

And silhouetted in the foreground, the outlines of a boat and a group of figures, gathered, warming themselves around a fire.
What stories they could tell – are telling.

Gone Fishing

We know this story. We have heard and read and loved John’s unique tale of the unexpected catch of fish and of the BBQ on the beach and of Peter’s humiliating reminder of his betrayal and of the commissioning of the disciples as pastors, caring for the flock. And yet each time we hear it afresh, like the freshness of the dawn; it’s a new day, a new season in our lives, and
Jesus is waiting to greet us again, as if for the first time.

I have always approached this resurrection story with a mindset of pastoral compassion. Just as you and I, after a devastating loss and grief almost beyond comprehension, might fall back into old patterns and routines as a way of coping – go home back to the village, go back to doing what you know you can do – fishing – whilst you take time to adjust and figure out what to do next – so Peter and James and John and their other friends retreated back to Galilee whilst they licked their wounds and try and figure out what to do next. And there they met with the Risen Christ, who has gone on ahead of them, and he heals Peter’s wound and gives him back his self-belief.

This chapter resounds with echoes of other stories in the Gospels. We think of Luke’s parallel story, where Jesus gets in the boat, Peter complains that they have had no catch, and Jesus tells them to try again with startling results. Harvests in scripture, whether wheat on land or fish at sea, are usually pregnant with meaning for the church’s mission. The fields are ripe; the nets are full; the time is now! And so here, at the close of this Gospel, Jesus reminds them of their mission and equips them for the task. They are called anew, with echoes of their first calling beside this same lake – leave your nets and follow me. Peter and his companions have returned; they are reminded of their origins and their first calling; and Jesus is giving them fresh resolve for the next part of the task.

Breakfast on the Beach

The resonances with other stories from other Gospels keep piling up. As harvests on land or sea are pregnant with meaning, so too are those occasions where Jesus sits and eats.

Weddings supplied with a superfluity of fine wines; outdoor preaching festivals where picnics are shared amongst all; sacred Passovers where time-honoured tradition becomes the pivot upon which hangs life and death. On each occasion, Jesus transforms the moment, blesses the ordinary, exceeds expectations. And, now, here on the beach, he tells his friends to come and have breakfast.

I can almost touch, taste, smell, see and hear the crackle of the charcoal fire and the breakfast being cooked. It is a reassuring sight and sound. Like weddings and picnics and Passovers. Life continues. The enfleshed Word of God has been restored to his friends and has lit a warming fire and baked bread on it.

Not all of the 12 were there that morning. In all the resurrection stories, some are present, some are absent. It’s only ever some of the women, or some of the eleven, or different combinations of their acquaintances. It can be difficult to get a sense of a common experience of the resurrection, and it likely never existed in the way we like to think of it. Sometimes it can
feel as if the brightness of the rising Son is all that matters, and the rest is just detail.

Mike Moyes’ painting is kind of like that. The brightness of the sun, rising over the horizon, claims the focus of our attention: glorious, vibrant, shedding light into our shadowy lives.

But then there’s that huddle of figures gathered around a small fire at the foot of the painting. We have to focus hard, or enlarge the image on our screen, to get a better grasp of who exactly they might be. And even though we know the Gospel passage, even then it’s not clear which is which and which might be Jesus and I suspect the artist intends it that way: you and I are invited to come, sit, join the meal, share the stories, have our wounds healed, be sent out, restored and refreshed.

Feed my Sheep

But before this group of friends head back to town to share their joy, there’s one more task to be accomplished. Peter, let’s go for a walk down the beach.

Poor Peter. Singled out again, all because he acted brashly in Gethsemane to defend Jesus, and then ran for cover like a scared rabbit when he thought he’d been recognised. If we read back through those earlier chapters of Jesus’ arrest and death, there’s a little detail that we do not see, because it isn’t brought to our attention. After he has denied his dear friend in the courtyard, Peter is quietly screened from our view; he isn’t mentioned around the cross; leave him alone with his bitter weeping. Then Mary runs to tell him that the tomb is empty and Peter runs as if his lungs would burst, and pushes pass the other disciple, ducks his head and goes right in. The turmoil and torment in his mind must have been well-nigh unbearable.

Doesn’t it strike you as rather strange that, later that evening when they gather together, doors locked, there is no mention of Peter who has been so notoriously prominent amongst the disciples throughout John’s Gospel? Let us assume he was indeed present, as Jesus stood among them and showed them his wounded hands. If you were Peter, what would you have thought, felt, said, done? I can see him, standing there, equally overwhelmed and overjoyed and wanting to push the others aside to get to Jesus first; and at the same time rooted to the spot, part of him dreading that Jesus should turn and look at him, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him.

However it may have been, some days have passed, Peter has likely become used to the idea that his best mate seems to be appearing and disappearing as if time and space no longer held sway, and here he is again, on the lake side at dawn and now Jesus wants a quiet word. Stand tall, Peter, and find the strength of heart to walk along the beach with your friend, and look
him in the eye once more, and bear the humiliation of having your weakness spelled out, three times. Restoration will be yours, but you must face yourself, as well as your friend.

This episode ends with Jesus’ bitter-sweet words to Peter to tend Jesus’ flock, and be prepared for the toll it will exact on you. For all called to leadership in the church, the message is the same. Do we claim to love Christ? Then show that love by feeding Christ’s sheep – those in most need who he cared for during his life-time. Do we claim to love Christ? Then look after people. Do we love Christ? Feed sheep.

I suspect there’s more to this story that an injunction to the church and it’s leadership about priorities in ministry. This ending to John’s Gospel also speaks, ever so gently, into the way in which you and I respond when we are worried or anxious or uncertain of what the future holds. Remember how Peter and his friends, still uncertain of what the future held, returned home to Galilee and back to the reassuring rhythms of fishing? In a similar way, this chapter invites us at times like this to stop, and breathe, and go back to basics. Take a deep breath. Sit with your friends. Tell stories of how Jesus walks alongside you. And then, follow the call of Christ, restored and refreshed.

Prayer
Living Christ,
who called to your friends
as they wrestled with doubt and dawning belief,
call to us now, as we seek to be your witnesses to the world;
keep our hearts alive with the freshness and joy
that was ours when we first heard your voice;
so that we may be drawn into the radiance
that is life in you.
Amen.